ilent for some time.

"You must have people of your own you could live with," she resumed
presently. "It's wrong for a girl with your money----"

Jinnie's lovely mouth set at the corners.

"I wouldn't leave Lafe and Peggy for anybody in the world, not if I
had relations, but I haven't."

"I thought--I thought," began Molly, pretending to bring to mind
something she'd forgotten. "You have an uncle," she burst forth.

Jinnie grew cold from head to foot. Her father's words, "He won't find
in you much of an obstacle," came to her distinctly.

"Does your uncle know where you are?"

This question brought the girl to the present.

"No. I don't want him to know, either. Not till--not till I'm
eighteen."

"Why?"

Molly's tone was so cold and unsympathetic Jinnie regretted she had
accepted her invitation to ride. But she need not be afraid; Lafe
would keep her safe from all harm. Had she not tried out his faith and
the angels' care with Maudlin Bates? However, she felt she owed some
explanation to the woman at her side.

"My uncle doesn't like me," she stammered, calming her fear. "And Lafe
loves me, Lafe does."

"How do you know your uncle doesn't love you?"

Thinking of Lafe's often repeated caution not to divulge her father's
disclosure of Morse's perfidy, Jinnie remained quiet.

The birds above their heads kept up a shrill chatter. On ordinary
occasions Jinnie would have listened to mark down in her memory a few
notes to draw from her fiddle, but at this moment she was too busy
looking for a proper explanation. Glancing sidelong at the woman's
face and noting the expression upon it, she grew cold and drew into
the corner. She would not dare----

"I almost think it's my duty to write your uncle," said Molly
deliberately.

Jinnie gasped. She straightened and put forth an impetuous hand.

"Please don't! I beg you not to. Some day, mebbe, some day----"

"In the meantime you're living with people who can't take care of
you."

"Oh, but they do, and Mr. King's helping me," faltered Jinnie. "Why,
he'd do anything for me he could. He loves my fiddle----"

"Does he love you?" asked Molly, her heart beating swiftly.

"I don't know, but he's very good to me."

Molly with one hand carefully brushed a dead leaf from her skirt.

"Do you love him?" she asked, forcing casuality into her tone.

Did she love Theodore King? The question was flung at Jinnie so
suddenly that the truth burst from her lips.

"Oh, yes